dream a story

Mr. W. left for work in the wee hours of the morning, and I dozed off again. I love the luxury of being able to sleep a little longer in the summer. I dreamed that he wanted to purchase a really cool, really expensive motorcycle. We found just the bike. It was so fast and responsive, that the driver and the passenger had to share a tandem helmet. There was a tiny third seat in the back for our youngest, and we snapped his motorcycle pants right to the motorcycle. It was so sleek, I was happy that Mr. Dub was getting his dream bike. We climbed on, revved the engine, and the next thing I knew, he was being grabbed by some bad, bad men, and then I was alone in a lobby being handed a cell phone (which I knew was so that I could communicate with my spouse). The bad man told me to "sing him a song." I was confused. I thought it was code speak for "talk to your man." I said hello, and sure enough, it was him. He asked "How was your trip?" and then hung up on me. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was convinced that I was part of the set-up. I woke up devastated that he thought I was on the wrong side of the law. I called him first thing--wanted to make sure he knew I was on the up and up. He went to work, I went back to sleep. Karma.